


We've Got Each Other

by Destiel_5eva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Blood and Violence, Castiel & Benny Lafitte Friendship, Castiel Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dean Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medic Cas, POV Castiel, Post-War, Soldier Dean Winchester, War, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiel_5eva/pseuds/Destiel_5eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1943</p><p>“Medic!” Castiel Novak scrambles out of the hand-dug foxhole and towards the sound of the scream. He keeps his body low to the ground, trying to make himself less of a target. “Medic!” the frantic scream seems to echo across the front line. Gunfire rains down on them the pop, pop, pop of machine guns a never ending cacophony in the distance. Castiel’s heart is racing with fear and adrenalin. Finally he sees a frantic hand waving around from another foxhole. Cas throws himself into the trench.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Got Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whenshipssail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenshipssail/gifts), [Heavenly_Stellar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Stellar/gifts).



> This is inspired by Band of Brothers the TV mini series. (You know the one with Richard, I'm sure you do. If you don't I highly recommend it)

_1943_

“Medic!” Castiel Novak (‘Doc’) scrambles out of the hand-dug foxhole and towards the sound of the scream. He keeps his body low to the ground, trying to make himself less of a target. “Medic!” the frantic scream seems to echo across the front line. Gunfire rains down on them the pop, pop, pop of machine guns a never ending cacophony in the distance. Castiel’s heart is racing with fear and adrenalin. Finally he sees a frantic hand waving around from another foxhole. Cas throws himself into the trench.

“How bad’s it?” he asks, noting the blood and terrified whimpers from the hit Private. His companion shrugs, eyes scanning the line. He levels his rifle and gets off a few shots. “OK. You’re going to be OK, Private,” Cas tries to reassure the young man. The poor guy looks up at him through glassy pain filled eyes. Cas gets to work tearing back the man’s jacket to get at the wound. Blood gushes from the torn flesh, pieces of shrapnel still stuck in his arm. Cas digs around in his medic’s bag for a bandage and antiseptic while keeping his other hand pressed over the wound. The irony tang of blood fills the air and the Private cries out in agony. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cas apologises, removing his hand. He practically dumps the whole contents of the antiseptic powder in one spot. Cas curses and tries spreading it with his fingers before wrapping a bandage around the wound, he gingerly removes the shrapnel piece by piece. Blood oozes over his hands as he goes. Cas tries to keep the bandage over the wound while he digs around in his bag for morphine.

“How’s it, Doc?” the other Private asks, breathless with shock at seeing a mate wounded. He shoots again and again before quickly glancing down at his comrade, reloading his rifle with a few sharp clicks.

“Shrapnel. Here,” Cas hands the guy the needle.

“Where do you want it?” he answers propping his rifle up next to him.

“Shoulder,” Cas nods using both his hands to apply pressure to the wound. The Private cries out again, especially when Cas ties off the bandage, pulling it as tight as he possibly can. Cas ignores the pained cries. The other man stabs the needle into the Private’s arm and almost immediately he goes lax as the drugs take away the pain. Cas wipes his blood-coated hands on his pants. The young Private smiles dopily up at Cas. “You’re welcome, “Cas replies, tapping the soldier’s helmet with a knuckle.

Cas glances out at the line, bursts of orange from the enemy fire stretch as far as he can see. Men hop back and forth from trenches, ducking under brush and behind trees like startled rabbits. He takes a moment to catch his breath. The other soldier has begun returning fire; Castiel keeps his head down. A rain of bullets make contact around them, throwing up bits of dirt and have them ducking for cover. “Medic!” someone yells off to his left. Taking a deep breath, Castiel hops out of the hole and is crawling towards the voice.

Castiel races towards the voice, a bullet makes contact with a tree about a foot ahead of him and he freezes, ducking under a shrub. “Shit,” Cas curses. A second later he’s moving again. He throws himself into the trench; the first thing he sees is the blood. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. The man is gargling, tears mixing with the blood on his face. “Hey, stay with me!” Cas urges, pulling the soldier’s collar back. He slaps a hand to the wound. Blood pours out from between his fingers. Cas glances down for a second to pull out a bandage, with a brutal yank he unravels it and is pressing it to the bullet wound over the man’s collarbone. Cas threads the bandage under the soldier’s armpit and wraps it around and round as tightly as he can. He ties off the bandage and jabs the man with a hit of morphine. “Help me get him to an aid station. Quick!” Cas yells over the shouting of orders and gunfire. The other soldier nods quickly, trying to avoid looking directly at all the blood. His face is almost as pale as his friends. They drag him out of the hole and sprint towards the closest aid station. Ducking for cover when bullets zip by.

They reach the small set up where a field ambulance is waiting to take the more extremely wounded soldiers back off the line. The poor guy they’ve dragged behind them will definitely be going back to get treatment that they can’t supply right now. Two other medics race over and immediately load the wounded man onto a stretcher on the ambulance beside a man missing the bottom half of his right leg. “Ah shit,” a lieutenant shouts, watching the ambulance race away. “This is the fourth trip!” he calls out to Castiel. Cas sighs and turns to return to the front line, Kevin the other field medic with his company, can’t take the whole thing himself.

Castiel follows the other Private back to his foxhole, hoping the young fellow has enough training not to choke and get them both killed. “What’s your name?” Cas asks the man. He looks back at Castiel, the colour starting to return to his cheeks.

“Milligan, Adam. But everyone calls me Ghoul,” he replies. Castiel notes that under the helmet and dirt and grime, Adam has blonde hair. His blue eyes are slightly wide and skitter around anxiously. He looks young. Almost too young to be here, really.

“Where are you from, Milligan?”

“Windom, Minnesota,” Ghoul answers dutifully, hands running over the butt of his rifle. “Where’re you from, Doc?” he asks, looking at Castiel.

“Pontiac, Illinois. I guess we’re both a long way from home, huh?” Castiel muses, eyes scanning their surroundings. Bullets still buzz by, kicking up dirt left, right and center, keeping both men on their toes. As they get closer to the line, their movements become more like hopping from one hole to another. They barely make is back to Ghoul’s foxhole before someone yells:

“Get down!” Castiel and Ghoul dive head first into the hole, hands coming up to shield their heads. An explosion goes off a little to their right, close enough for them to feel the shock wave from the blast and feel dirt rain down on them.

“Holy shit!” Ghoul cries, scrambling for his rifle to join the fray.

“Medic!” Someone shouts and Castiel is once again barreling along the front line, dodging bullets and now artillery explosions. This time, it’s someone Castiel actually knows. His heart clenches for a moment before he’s rocketing into action.

“Lafitte,” Castiel acknowledges the burly soldier squatting beside the wounded man.

“Hey Cas. You can help him right?” Benny asks, voice raised to be heard over the din. He fires off a couple of shots before Cas can answer.

“Of course!” Cas yells back. He rips at the soldier’s pant leg. The soldier lifts his head up and lets out a choked whimper seeing the bits of metal sticking out of his leg. Castiel pulls out as much as he can see. Blood oozes from the mans’ calf. “It’s OK,” Cas reassures him, ripping open a packet of antiseptic powder. He sprinkles it as evenly as he can over the gaping holes in the soldier’s leg before slapping a bandage over the wound. He wraps it tight, making the soldier heave a cry of pain. Cas reaches for his medic bag, pulling out a small needle of morphine. He presses it into the guy’s opposite thigh. He sighs in relief, eyes closing. “Hey! Eyes open! Look at me,” Cas demands, knocking on the soldier’s helmet. His eyes spring open and he gives Cas a goofy grin.

“What’s up, Doc?” the young soldier giggles at his own joke. Cas rolls his eyes before turning back to Benny.

“Are you hit?” he questions. Benny shakes his head ‘no’ not taking his eyes off the line. “OK”. Castiel’s eyes turn back to the young Private. He scans his face; bright green eyes stare back at him. “Is the pain gone?” he asks the Private for lack of anything else to say. Of course the pain is gone, Cas would be severely worried if it wasn’t.

“Mmmhmm,” he replies. Castiel nods his head, eyes returning to Benny, who is muttering to himself about ‘the damn krauts'.

“Look out!” Someone shouts and Castiel instinctively ducks his body low to shield the wounded soldier. He giggles up at Castiel. His breath fanning over Castiel’s cheek and he jerks back off the man.

“Well, well, Doc. You have a thing for _Privates_?” the wounded soldier wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, the word ‘privates’ sounding every bit the innuendo as he intended it to. Castiel frowns down at the Private. The dose of the morphine is only enough to dull the pain. The Private shouldn’t be _that_ out of it. Although his dick does give a little twitch of interest at the prospect of the young man coming onto him. _Stop it!_ He chastises himself. _This is neither the time nor the place!_

“Don’t worry about ol’ Private Winchester, he’ll flirt with anything that has two legs and a heartbeat. I think the drugs are giving him a bit of extra courage though!” Benny tells Castiel with a bark of laughter. Cas tries to smile back.

“INCOMING!” Someone screams and again, Cas, Benny and a groggy Private Winchester duck for cover as the explosion goes off not five meters ahead of them.

“Fucking hell!” Benny shouts at Castiel can’t help but agree. They’ve been at this since dawn, shooting anything that moves and protecting the line at all costs. He and Benny pop their heads up, eyes scanning the line of trees framing the town they’re supposed to be advancing on and taking from the krauts They’re just waiting for the order. It hasn’t come yet; maybe tomorrow will be the day. But what would Cas know; he’s just a medic, not a soldier. He doesn’t fight.

“Doc?” Private Winchester tugs on his sleeve from where he’s slouched on the bottom of the hole. Castiel looks down at him. Winchester’s eyes are still slightly glassy but he isn’t bleeding through the bandages. When the attack ends Cas will get Benny to take him back to the aid station to get sewn up.

“Yes, Winchester?” Castiel replies. Private Winchester frowns up at him, an adorable little crease forms between his eyebrows and his lip slightly protrudes.

“Call me Dean, kay?” Cas nods. “Good. Kay, what’s your name?” Dean questions, trying to sit up straighter. Benny hauls him up by the back of his collar. “Thanks.”

“Novak.”

“You’re first name. I know you’re Novak,” Dean pouts.

“Castiel Novak,” Cas answers, watching Dean’s face, his eyes are _very_ green Cas can’t help by acknowledge.

“Mmm, where’re you from? ‘M from Kansas, Lawrence actually.”

“Illinois,” Castiel has to lean in closer for Dean to hear his reply. Benny has begun rapidly firing at two Crouts who made the mistake of running out in the open. Bullets riddle their bodies and they fall to the ground like two sacks of potatoes.

“Medic! Oh shit, medic! God!” Someone practically sobs. Cas is on his feet before the soldier even finishes his plea. Gunpowder, dirt and the distinct smell of death clog the air as Castiel runs, hunched over a hand on his bag. A shell from artillery fire drops a distance behind him, shaking the ground and throwing him off his feet. With a groan, Cas’ up again and running to the wounded soldier’s aid. “Medic! Shit! I need some help!” Castiel reaches the foxhole, jumping in his first thought is _oh God help me_. “Doc! Please,” a frantic soldier claws at him, they looks down at the mortally wounded man. Castiel kneels down in a haze; the poor man is choking on his own blood. His left arm is completely severed and blood blooms from multiple places in his chest. Castiel has to physically shake his head to get out of his initial shock.

“Help me! You have to pick out the shrapnel for me. Can you do that soldier?” Cas orders, ripping open the wounded mans’ jacket. With trembling hands he pulls out a tourniquet and a giant gauze patch. Castiel ties the tourniquet around the poor mans’ shoulder and slaps the gauze over the bloody stump. The other soldier is shaking badly. “Come on, soldier! Do you want him to die?!” Cas barks, watching as the gauze bandage on the stump turns red. _Oh shit._ It’s only now that Castiel notices the other soldier in the foxhole. He’s trying to make himself as small as possible. He’s sobbing. “Help me!” Castiel screams at him. This jolts him out of his hysterics. He crawls forward and begins pulling out bits of metal and wood from the wounded mans’ chest. Cas sprinkles on the antiseptic powder and bandages each wound in turn. He blocks out everything around him, focusing solely on the task at hand. He doesn’t even notice the soldier who originally called for him, yelling at him to top. The man has to physically yank Castiel back.

“He’s dead! Stop! He’s dead,” the soldier shouts and slowly Castiel becomes aware of what’s going on around him. He stares back at the soldier who’s gripping him tightly by the shoulders. Blinking, Cas glances down at the dead man, his eyes stare blankly upwards and Cas notices how grey his skin is.

“Oh,” Cas murmurs dumbly. The soldier releases his hold on Castiel’s arms and goes back to firing at the Germans. Once again, Castiel as to mentally slap himself. This is _war._ People _die._ Right now he can’t afford to dwell on it or he’ll end up dead too.

“MEDIC!”

* * *

 

_Now_

“Cas! Wake up, please!”

His eyes spring open and he stares at Dean, confused. His heart is still racing and he feels faint. He’s aware of the fact that he’s drenched in a cold sweat. “Dean?” his voice is hoarse. He’s crying. He didn’t even realize. Dean pulls him up into a hug, their blankets pooling at their waists.

“It’s OK. Cas, it’s OK, I’m here,” Dean whispers into his ear, running his hands down Cas’ back, ignoring the tackiness.

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmurs, squeezing Dean close.

“Shhh.” Dean kisses his cheek. “Lets go get you some new PJ’s,” Dean suggests, pulling him out of bed. Cas hobbles after him on wobbly legs.

_1943_

“How ya doing, Doc?” Benny asks easing himself down next to Cas. He shrugs, fingers not ceasing their tapping on the buckle of his medics bag. It’s a habit he’s picked up during the war. “OK then…” Benny drawls, pulling a pack of smokes from his breast pocket. “Got a light?” Wordlessly, Castiel pulls a lighter from his bag; he flicks it, offering up the flame. Benny lights the cigarette, leaning forward as he takes a drag. “Thanks.”

They sit in silence, Benny puffing on his smoke and Castiel staring off into the distance, trying not to think about the man he could not save. “How about that full moon?” Benny says, trying to strike up a conversation. Cas stares up where the moon glares down at them, casting a bluish light over the road and burnt out shells that were once buildings. “Looks different than back home, don’tcha think?” Cas shrugs his reply.

Cas thinks a lot about what happened those few days ago. Mostly about the soldier who died under his hands and Private Dean Winchester. Private Garth Fitzgerald isn’t the first soldier to die in Castiel’s arms and he most certainly won’t be the last. But Dean Winchester, Cas has seen him around, he’s constantly laughing and seeming like he’s having a ball. He _can_ he? The thought is bitter.

Maybe he does it not for his benefit, but for the benefit of those around him. Castiel respects that. His heart jumps at the thought of Dean, the jovial soldier who carries himself seemingly without a care in the world. He hasn’t even spoken to Cas, when he’s not under the influence of something, and he can feel affection for the man beginning to form. This isn’t good.

Benny doesn’t get mad at Cas’ lack of speech. He understands that sometimes someone just needs the company. War changes men. You aren’t the same person you were when you first set foot on foreign soil. They’ve all seen things that they could have gone their whole life without seeing; some people take it better than others.

“I could have saved him. It’s my fault he’s dead,” Castiel murmurs, looking down at his hands imagining them still glistening with dead man’s blood. He shudders, swiping them roughly against his pants.

“What? Who, Cas?” Benny asks, leaning down in an attempt to meet Cas’ gaze. But Cas’ head shoots up sharply, his eyes filled with tears of anguish and frustration.

“The soldier!” Cas insists. Benny stares at him blankly, then realization dawns in his eyes and Cas nods emphatically. Benny looks at Castiel with pity filled eyes.

“Private Fitzgerald’s death was not your fault Cas, you tried your best. You tried to save him!” Benny insists, placing a hand almost the size of a bears’ paw on Cas’ shoulder.

“He died because I didn’t work fast enough!” Castiel says in anguish, his head dropping into his hands. He tries to hold back his sobs—swallow them down, keep them buried deep inside, never to be seen again. He gasps and shudders, battling with his emotions. Benny pulls him into his arms, letting Cas sob on his shoulder. It’s almost as if as soon as Benny gave him sympathy, the levee breaks. He coos into Cas’ ear, telling him over and over again that it wasn’t his fault.

They stay like that, Cas on his knees and head on Benny’s shoulder with Benny squatting back against a tree for as long as it took Cas’ tears to run dry. When he pulls back, his eyes are puffy and bloodshot and his cheeks are warming in embarrassment. “Sorry about that,” he rasps. Benny just shrugs; understanding that everyone needs a shoulder to cry on once and a while.

Benny stands, holding a hand down to help Cas up. “Wanna go get more smokes?” he asks as if Castiel didn’t just have a hysterical breakdown. Cas smiles at him; this is why Benny is one of his best friends.

As they walk back, Cas replays the events of the past few days. Eventually they had made it out of the woods and into the German occupied territory. In short, they took out the Germans manning the snipers and artillery before taking any remaining as prisoners—hostages. Castiel’s been told that there are forty-two. The campaign was fairly successful. The only casualties were Private Fitzgerald and two others, with at least seventeen others wounded. Now they’re back firmly in allied territory waiting to be told whether they’re going home or back into the field. Cas prays it’s the former.

After a few moments of silence, Castiel asks the question that’s been hanging at the back of his mind. It concerns one green eyed Private. “Um… Benny, do you know how Private Winchester is doing?”

Benny glances up at him unlit smoke dangling from his lip. His eyes twinkle with something Castiel doesn’t want to contemplate. “Last I heard, he was bored shitless in hospital and being a little bastard to the nurses.”

 

_Dean Winchester huffs in annoyance. He’s been in this stupid cot for over 72 hours, not being able to move for fear of getting roused on by an equally annoyed nurse. He was hit by a bit of shrapnel, so what? He’s not dying. As far as he’s concerned, he’s wasting a space just lying here._

_He stares up at the white wash ceiling, twiddling his thumbs. With a sigh, he tilts his head up and scans the room for what would have to be the hundredth time. Same practically dead soldier two cots down, same group of amputees on the other side of the room and same nurse flitting between them._

_That’s it! Dean can’t take it anymore. There is a war going on and he should be fighting in it. Not lying here like a dead man. Dean decides right there that he’s going AWOL and returning to his platoon._

 

“But he’s OK?” Castiel also doesn’t want to contemplate why he cares so much. It was only a bit of shrapnel.

“Yeah,” Benny answers. Castiel almost breathes a sigh of relief.

They reach the building that’s housing the recently brought in supplies. Benny swaggers in; pulling his helmet off and swiping a paw through his closely cropped hair. Castiel kept his head down. It isn’t until he hears Benny’s rumbling laugh that he looks up. Amongst the few others haggling the poor soldier in charge of rationing the supplies for extra cigarettes is the green eyed Private who got wounded in their last campaign nearly four days ago. Currently, he’s smirking a Benny, dimples and all and Cas feels his earlier anguish dissipating. He can’t help but frown. Castiel made sure all wounded soldiers got a cot at the hospital to recover from their injuries. Private Winchester can’t have healed that quickly. “Well look what the cat’s dragged in!” Benny booms, crossing the room to pull the other Private into a big bear hug. “Now just how did you manage to get your scrawny ass back here so soon?” Benny questions.

“It seems I’ve gone AWOL,” Dean replies, slapping Benny on the back.

“My, my Private Winchester,” Benny chuckles. It’s now that Dean notices Cas standing awkwardly by the door. He gives Cas that dimpled grin and Castiel thinks that something inside of him has just turned to goo. He looks away, a hand gravitating to rub at the back of his neck.

He keeps his eyes averted even when he hears the uneven footsteps of Dean Winchester coming towards him. “How ya goin’ Cas?” Dean asks leaning against a wall just to his right. Cas can feel his eyes on him. Like two hot pokers red hot and burning holes into the side of his face.

“Fine,” his voice comes out no louder than a whisper. Apparently this answer doesn’t satisfy the Private because he leans closer and uses a calloused hand to turn Cas’ face towards him. The first thing Cas notices about Dean is that his eyes, still green as ever were shining with understanding. No pity.

“You wanna try that again, Doc?” Dean asks quietly. For some reason this question sets off all the emotions that Castiel has been trying so hard to keep balled up inside of him since he first laid eyes on a dead body almost a year ago, since he first got his hands covered in some else’s blood almost a year and a half ago. Without a word, Castiel stalks out of the building. He has to bite his lip in a vain attempt to keep his emotions at bay.

He walks on the side of the road, stepping over chunks of concrete and piles of mud and dirt. He’s almost calm, and then he hears the uneven gait of someone who’d taken shrapnel to the leg and not stayed in hospital long enough to even get the stitches out. _Dean_. He keeps his head down, carefully measuring each step as to not fall and injure himself further. He keeps his head down even when he can feel Dean’s breath panning over the back of his neck, under his helmet. He keeps his head down even when Dean places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “What do you want?” he demands as evenly as he can. He does not look up. He does not acknowledge the warmth of Dean’s palm on his shoulder. He definitely does not acknowledge his accelerated heartbeat and the pleasure at Dean talking to him.

“To talk to you,” Dean replies, not removing his hand. Cas scoffs.

“Why?”

“Do you hate me, Doctor?” Dean asks voice laced with hurt, even though Castiel can hear Dean trying to hide it. Cover it up with more curiosity. Cas looks up at him, trying to keep his emotions in check.  
“No. I do not hate you, Private Winchester,” Cas reverts back to calling him by his formal title. Hopefully it will drive off the man, help to keep his distance. Dean takes a step backward, hand slipping from Cas’ shoulder, his face a mask. Castiel ignores his heart screaming at him to stop this madness. Stop ignoring his feelings.

“Then why are you acting like this? I know I haven’t done anything to offend you, have I? ‘Cause if I have, I’m sorry,” Dean sounds genuinely confused and remorseful even though he’s right. He hasn’t done anything to Castiel, except get under his skin with that dimpled grin, crooked nose and green eyes bright and mischievous. Castiel lets his head drop backward and he releases a sharp burst of breath into the air. When he looks back at Dean he has tears in his eyes.

“Dean,” he chokes.

“What’s wrong Cas?” Dean asks, worriedly stepping forward, his hands come up in an aborted gesture of comfort before returning to his sides to jitter restlessly.

“Dean. You’ve done nothing to me. I _like_ you! Therefore I have to keep my distance from you, I don’t know what I would do if I saw you really hurt or…” he lets his rant fade off leaving the unsaid ‘dead’ hanging in the air. He watches Dean for a reaction, but his face is blank. Castiel turns away, letting the tears fall; it’s for the best if Dean never talks to him again. His heart doesn’t think so. Cas feels as if there is a tank on his chest, flattening his lungs, crushing his diaphragm only letting in wisps of air.

“Fuck that!” he hears Dean growl from behind him. Then there’s a hand turning him around and a body pressed against his own. “No, Cas, you don’t have to keep your distance from me cause I’m not gonna die. I’m not gonna get hit again,” then there are urgent lips being pressed against his own. He’s vaguely aware of his knees turning to jelly and Dean’s arms threading around his waist, holding him up. Dean’s lips taste of cigarette smoke, but that’s OK. They’re Dean’s lips, pressed against his, Dean’s hands pressed into the small of his back, Dean’s tongue darting out to hesitantly prod the seam of Castiel’s lips. Castiel opens his mouth, Dean’s tongue sweeps inside and his mouth and Cas is so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if all the blood in his entire body is in his cock. But he’s not the only one; he can feel Dean’s erection pressing into his hip. Without breaking the kiss he let’s a hand trail down and he cups the bulge in Dean’s pants. Dean lets out a choked gasp, leaning back, his lips leaving Castiel’s for a split second before he surges forward reclaiming Cas’. He ruts into Cas’ hand for a moment, before Cas pulls his hand away. Dean makes a subconscious whimper at that and Cas can’t help but smirk.

Cas moves back a step, putting a hand on Dean’s chest when he makes to follow, “You don’t want to come in your pants, do you? That would be awfully uncomfortable for you. Who knows when’s the next time you’ll be able to shower and are given a fresh uniform,” Cas points out with a raised eyebrow.

Dean frowns slightly, “But my…” he gestures downward. Cas smiles, pressing the heel of his palm against his own hard-on. He shrugs. “You’re going to leave me like this?” Dean pouts and Castiel laughs, Dean’s face breaks out in a smile showing those dimples that turn Cas’ insides to putty. “Can I a least get another kiss?” Dean pleads. Cas sighs dramatically as if kissing Dean were a chore.

Dean pulls him in, this time threading a hand through the curls of hair and the base of Cas’ head, another hand cupping Cas’ cheek. Cas fists his hands in the material of Dean’s jacket. Their lips meet softly this time, sweetly. When Cas pulls back he can tell he’s grinning like an absolute idiot. “There, happy now?” Cas asks. Dean answer is to sneak another kiss, a quick brush of lips.

“Yep,” he chuckles, ducking Cas’ hand that comes to swat at him.

“Private Winchester? Is that you?” someone calls; Dean turns towards the voice before turning to Castiel, looking apologetic.

“Seems the nurses have noticed my absence. I gotta…” he looks back at the Lieutenant.

“Go,” says Castiel. Dean gives him one more apologetic looks before racing off in the direction of the Lieutenant, his lopsided gait creating a clip-clopping noise over the gravel. Cas watches his retreating back a happy little smile on his lips. He turns to head in the direction of the hospital, refusing to let himself thing about what were to happen something were to happen to Dean or if someone found out about them.

_***_

The next time Castiel sees Dean, several other members of his platoon surround him. Dean raises a hand in greeting and smiles. Cas reciprocates the gesture feeling warm and gooey inside. Dean and the other troops are smoking and talking and laughing together, lounging on the stairs of a random building. Castiel and Kevin are on their way back from the hospital with some extra supplies for the aid stations. Kevin is talking his ear off about his mother back home. Castiel made little noises to show that he’s listening even though he’s not; he’s locked in a staring match with Dean as they walk past. It’s only broken when Dean gets a slap to the side of his face by a sergeant (Campbell?) that Castiel looks away, smirking at Dean’s surprised look as he turns back to his group.

“So yeah, mom was absolutely furious when I told her I enlisted. She wants me to be a doctor. At least I can tell her I was kind of a doctor. Right Castiel?”

“Right.”

***

Castiel is eating a quick breakfast with a few other medics from other platoons when Dean bursts in. Castiel looks up, almost dropping his tin. Dean’s hands are dripping with blood and Dean’s face is grey. “What the fuck happened?” one of the other medics demand. Dean says nothing for a moment, too shaken to speak, he just stares at Castiel.

He snaps out of it when another medic claps in front of his face. “G-Gallagher’s hit. Quick! Over at the old statue thing,” Dean splutters. Kevin and the medic that demanded what happened, sprint out of the tent to help Gallagher. Dean watches them go and then slumps to the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest. Castiel is on his feet and hurrying over to Dean in an instant. He crouches down, offering Dean the little tin that was holding his coffee.

“Here. Drink,” he urges. Dean shakes his head; although it’s almost lost by the way his whole body is trembling. Castiel sets the coffee down; he wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders and heaves him up. They walk over to the long bench table and Castiel eases Dean down. Castiel leaves him staring at the ground between his legs as he grabs a bucket of water. Bringing it over he kneels at Dean’s feet. Gently, he washes away all the blood. Dean’s breath comes out in puffs like he’s trying not to cry and when Cas meets his eyes they’re bloodshot.

Once all the blood is gone he throws out the water that’s now a shade of pink. The remaining medic is forcing Dean to drink a bit of water from a canteen; reluctantly, he grabs the container and swallows a mouthful. He makes a face as if to say ‘happy?’ and screws on the lid. Turning his head away from where the medic sits beside him.

The medic gets up, meeting Castiel at the door to the tent, he looks back at Dean before sighing, “I’m going to go check on Gallagher, see what happened. Can you stay with Winchester, make sure he’s OK?” Cas nods and the medic claps him on the shoulder before leaving.

Castiel watches Dean for a moment, watches the way Dean clasps his hands tightly enough to turn the tips of his fingers white and the way he screws his eyes shut tightly enough to crease his forehead. Slowly, Cas approaches him, like one would a wounded animal. He sits beside Dean and places a hand over Dean’s. Dean jerks like he didn’t know anyone was with him. “Are you OK, Dean?” Cas murmurs quietly. Dean shakes his head. “What did you see?” Cas prods as gently as he can. He doesn’t expect Dean to reply. But he does.

“Blood. So much blood. One minute Andy was walking towards us and the next…” a sob chokes his off and Cas pulls him into a hug. Dean’s head rests at Cas’ neck his arms around Cas’ waist, hands fisting in the back of Castiel’s jacket. Cas holds Dean tightly as he sobs. “He’s going to die, Cas. The blood! The blood!” he cries helplessly.

Cas holds him through his body shuddering sobs. Biting his lip against the pain in his heart. Dean is hurting and he doesn’t know what to do. So he sits and holds Dean. He pretends to be a strong man and keeps on a brave face for the young Private who has seen too much.

* * *

 

_Now_

Something wakes Cas from a blessedly dream free slumber. He sits up, scratching his head. He hears a noise. With a frown, Cas strains to hear. It sounds like… a whimper. Of pain.

Then the bed jerks. Dean. Panicking, he watches helplessly as Dean flails slightly in his sleep. He whimpers and Cas doesn’t have to see his face to know that Dean is crying in his sleep. He knows what’s happening. He knows because he suffers from the same. It’s the memories. The memories from back then. The war.

“Dean,” Cas gently nudges Dean’s shoulder. Dean bats him away with an anguished cry that tugs on Cas’ heart. “Dean please,” he tries again but Dean does not wake. Leaning over the bed, Cas flicks on the lamp sitting on the nightstand. The room is suddenly awash in warm light. He sees Dean’s face, its pale. Sweat runs down his temples and tears mar his cheeks. His face breaks Cas’ heart. So much pain and suffering. Wordlessly, Cas gathers Dean into his arms and while Dean beats at his chest, he eventually calms down and Cas sits, cradling Dean while he’s plagued with the terrifying memories of then. Watching men die in the most horrific way.

“Cas,” Dean whines, still asleep. He fumbles with Cas’ shirt and clutches it tight, burying his face in Cas’ chest. “ _Cas!”_ his voice is panicked and slowly, Cas rocks him. He rocks Dean through his memories. He hums. He does _anything_ to help him through the pain.

No one told him this was going to happen. If he had _known_ he never would have joined. War is not something of an adventure. It is hell on earth and now years later that pain still lingers. It lingers in silent moments. It lingers in the sound of commercial jets overhead. It lingers in Fourth of July fireworks. It’s too much.

“I’m sorry,” Dean sounds broken, his words garbled. It breaks Cas’ heart. He can’t bear it any longer.

“Dean wake up,” he demands. “Wake up!” He shakes Dean violently. “Please!” he pleads, tears streaming down his cheeks. His voice cracks and he’s dangerously close to loosing it completely. Dean wakes, clamping his hands around Cas’ arms. He stares at Cas in confusion. But realization hits and he knows. He knows what has happened. Guilt mars his face and Cas wants it gone.

He kisses Dean. It’s hard and punishing. Teeth clack together and breaths mingle between them. “Dean,” Cas murmurs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” They hold each other. They keep each other from falling apart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://hopelessly-in-love-with-cas.tumblr.com/)


End file.
